


Seventeen

by Pixelated_Optimism



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Fluff, Gen, Hormones, Puberty, Smutlet, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, i'm trying to make this a smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:54:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelated_Optimism/pseuds/Pixelated_Optimism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between them, sometimes things are better left unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> how could they handle dopamine, serotonin and oxcytocin?? that's my pretty point. they can't. *evil grin*

She found him.

Or rather, he found her.

She tried to feel her throat and mumble something warm and welcoming, her malfunctioning mind slowly groping for sentences that could bridge that long gap four years created between them, those hand-picked, well-rehearsed words she nursed on her mind whenever fantasies of him coming back fell on that little selfish part of her brain. Short, awkward things she recited and remembered, along with wishes and longings that had been a permanent resident of her head . . .

But they never came.

Sentences ran like hell, plain syllables became strenuous, adjectives turned into painful mental efforts, usual greetings too fast for her understanding, too complex for her stammering tongue, too long for her dead mouth. 

Her ability to speak suddenly faded, easily, just like that.

Her mind turned into an expanse of blank.

“Weirdo”

She forgot how to breathe.

She just stood there, in front of him in the middle of noise and mayhem of the school festival, bright-eyed and gazing and equally breathless, people bustling to and fro around them, unaware of how her heart raced a million times just standing in front of him.

In front of him.

In front of Ryoma-kun.

He was barely recognizable. If it wasn’t for his far-famed hat and his large bag she could’ve just passed him as someone else. Four years already wiped the vague memories she had of how the fourteen year-old Ryoma looked like. 

She was now looking at his seventeen year old self. 

Uncertainty slowly crept at her very fingers, making everything unbearable. It was a strange thing, really, like knowing someone, but not entirely being sure about it. 

In kaleidoscopic time she watched him as he removed his hat, his windswept, greenish black hair spilling on the right places, just as she remembered it, a lump of fringe tipping on his left, a stray flying on his right, a strand sticking on the back. His hazel-cat eyes hidden, his mouth curved into a knowing smirk she grew accustomed of seeing, his large tennis bag slung on his wide shoulder, his leather jacket he wore so fittingly, his shoes of the same sort and brand . . .

It was him.

Same old him.

Her perfect stranger.

Ryoma-kun.

His eyes found hers and for a moment they looked at each other, still immersed in their petrified, pregnant silence. 

Then he smiled.

Before she could do much of a gasp her vision was blocked with something placed on her head. Stammering, her hands groped and found his hat sitting on her head, his hand still on its visor, pulling it down.

“It’s you”

She stopped and stood still, her probing hands froze as his clear, amused tone echoed on her ears; as if it was the only voice she could hear at the present. She heard him scoff before she felt his grip on the hat loosening. Regaining her wits, she tipped his hat up and saw him looking away, a hand deep into a pocket while the other thumbed the strap of his tennis bag.

“Let me guess” he breathed, puffing an air to brush off strands straying on his forehead “Lost, aren’t you?”

He must have caught her cheeks’ undoing in his peripheral vision because he gave another smile, more like to himself, before he muttered something in English and dropped his mada mada dane. 

“Typical” he shrugged noncommittally “I should’ve known better”

She ended biting her lip. Noticing her silence, he cast a glance at her before he huffed, burying his eyes further behind his fringe as he said “You got me first”

That was a painful but happy punch in the gut until the shame of it all crept and annihilated her senses, if there was anything left. The smirk on his lips told her Ryoma knew much more than what it seems.

Of course he knew.

He did call her Obaa-chan, unceremoniously announcing he took a flight back to Japan after his debut and his latest Grand Slam, he knew that the moment she learned about his coming back she rushed at Seishun Gakuen, he knew that she wanted to be the first person who’d see him back before his old friends and teammates and supporters flocked him, knew that probably because of her clumsiness and denseness and the unusual number of people at the school she’d be lost and all.

He knew.

“Well, I have to give you some credit, despite that alienated sense of direction” he said, making her tip his hat up to see him clearly, unabashedly.

Retort was slowly piling itself on her mouth, but even though she wanted to blurt out and explain she still felt her throat sinking on the pit of her stomach. Instead of words, which were now acting treacherous, leaving her all of a sudden, she gave what was left with her.

A small beam.

It was a small gesture, an act which barely represented one fourth of what she was feeling at the moment. But she knew, nevertheless, from the look he gave, she knew it spoke volumes; she knew that beam alone had given him her happiness of seeing him, her elated joy of being there, her thrill of finally just standing in front of him, her unnatural sadness knowing this wouldn’t last, her excitement, her prayers for him, her congratulatory remarks for the achievements he reaped.

He knew. 

Her shouts for him can never stand out against the large crowd of admirers and supporters he had, no matter how loud it was, that it must’ve dwindled to mere groans the moment it reached him. She can never build a bridge strong enough; long enough to overcome the gap time had created.

But it was enough for somebody like him.

Between them, sometimes things are better left unsaid.

For that moment, it was enough.

A beam was enough.

He was there, standing in front of her, after four years, his seventeen year old self, smiling like she was the very person he wanted to see.

And she was there, beaming, proud and happy for everything he did.

Finally, she found her voice and heaved a breath, scarcely though.

“R-R—”

She gulped and tried not to glow in happiness. But she knew she’d fail to do so, nevertheless.

“Ryoma-kun”

He did it again, hiding his eyes behind his fringe he looked away and fished out something from his pocket. Musing over how lightheaded she was as her heart raced in an insane bazillion speed she squeaked and nearly jumped as Ryoma threw something at her. Her sloppy reflexes did manage to catch the thing though. Dazed, she opened her hands and found a tennis ball.

Wait.

Was it?

Blushing, she looked at the ball frantically, rolling it between her fingers as she desperately tried to find those familiar marks she knew those tennis balls she gave to Ryoma should have.

Her heart sank.

It wasn’t one of those balls.

The one he gave was relatively new. Still in a bright shade of light green, the fuzzy surface still intact. There was no faded caricature of a chibi Ryoma on it, and neither a “Number One in Nationals”. 

Just a plain simple ball.

Biting her lip she looked at the ball and sorely ate her disappointment. It was conceited of her, she knew, but sometimes she really did thought about Ryoma considering her farewell gifts as keepsakes.

“I’m already number one”

Smirk.

His cat-eyes fell on the ball on her hands. Puzzled, she dropped her gaze at the ball and saw why.

It was tiny, easily missed. But it was there, written by him. 

I’m Number One.

Oh.

He was number one.

Ryoma-kun is already number one.

Number One!

“R-Ryoma-k-kun” she stammered, blushing and proud and happy “You—Number One—I’m so happy—oh, my—the whole team—Obaa-chan—”

He rolled his eyes as if the revelation was something trivial.

“Could you just at least complete your sentences when you’re with me?”

She nervously breathed and covered her mouth. He yawned and pocketed a hand, still looking away. Making sure her sentences are not in a jumbled mess, she dropped her hands and broke the short silence between them.

“It’s just that” she took a deep breath and smiled at him “I’m happy for you”

He muttered something in English, smiling to himself in a manner that told her his secrecy had everything to do with what she said. 

“I’m sure everyone’s proud and happy for you too” she added carefully. “The whole te—”

“KOSHIMAE!!”

Tooyama Kintarou was waving his arms madly, standing out in the crowd with his spiky red-hair. Beside him a flushed Taichi Dan was on fours, panting like he ran a mile. Not minding the looks he earned, Kintarou swiftly made his way to them, giggling while Dan tried to stand and follow the hyper red-head.

Irritation swiftly registered on Ryoma’s face as he cussed under his breath. Caught off guard with his sudden change of mood she tried to innocently look back as he squarely looked at her, his very countenance demanding an explanation.

“W-When y-you c-called O-Obaa-chan K-Kintarou-k-kun was there” she stammered. A quirked eyebrow replaced the irritation.

“Why is Tooyama in your place?”

“A-Anou . . . O-Obaa-chan and the rest of the t-team—”

She stopped and stepped away from him as familiar faces swam to her view, encircling Ryoma in a flash, laughing and giggling and drunk with happiness. Besides Kintarou, who now got him in a tight, embarrassing tackle and Dan who was in all smiles and out of breath, Tomo-chan was there, waving a large, embarrassing banner professing her undying love for him and his tennis. Horio-kun was babbling something about Ryoma’s latest appearance in Rolland Garros. Katsuo-kun and Kachirou-kun was there too, chiming in, stopping Horio-kun’s loud mouth. 

A distant beam of ochibi told her the old team was having their fair share of Ryoma. Kikumaru-senpai and Momo-chan-senpai huddled him like it was their God-given right to do so, Kaidoh-senpai was hissing, probably pissed again, Inui-senpai was ghosting behind them, eerily shoving his glasses, armed with a pen and his kouhai notebook. Fuji-senpai was wearing his usual smile, standing beside Oishi-senpai, pacifying a hyper Kawamura-senpai, who was brandishing his tennis racquet, yelling welcome back baby. Ryoma looked ruffled, but he was smiling, nevertheless, looking at ease and comfortable around his typical set of friends and supporters.

He was there, and his place would always be there.

She knew that, of course.

Knew and accepted it, at the very least.

“That’s Ryoma’s hat, isn’t it?”

Obaa-chan suddenly appeared beside her, her arms crossed as they watched Kaidoh-senpai and Momo-chan-senpai butt their foreheads together, fuming about something trivial, Ryoma-kun yawning behind them.

She gave a small reassuring pat on the hat now sitting on her head.

“It is”

**Author's Note:**

> my first smut! I don't want to post it yet on ff. net. i'm pretty decent there so maybe i could do it here :3


End file.
